I Know You Love Him
by Katya Derevko
Summary: Even Irina can't hide the truth from everyone ...
1. Goodbye

I Know You Love Him  
  
Chapter One: Goodbye  
  
I miss them, Irina. The missions we used to go on together, the ops we used to plan. How much leeway we were given by Khasinau, how he favored us over all the new recruits! I've often wondered since then, if it was it really because we were that good, or simply because he desired you? But then, most men do, a fact that you have never forgotten or ceased to use to your advantage. Which is why you were chosen for the assignment, and I was not. I wonder, if you knew how much it would have changed your life, changed your very identity, would you still have done it?  
I did enjoy helping you, however. Assisting you in becoming "Americanized." I enjoyed those rare occasions when I got to critique and correct you. When you got angry with me, you always slipped right out of your "American" accent and back into your normal way of speaking. We had to work on that a lot because we knew emotional situations would be the most dangerous, the times when you would be most likely to slip up. It was easy to don a convincing accent for a mission spanning a matter of hours, days, even weeks or months, but this - this was entirely different. This mission could span years.  
I tried not to think about that. Every time I wondered about how long it would be before I saw you again, I brushed my concerns aside. After all, this was bigger than both of us. This was for Russia, to whom we owed our very souls. Besides, I would rather have died than admit to you how much I would miss you. Who could I partner with on missions, and be as sure of my safety as I was with you? The KGB would order me to trust my life to someone else now, a fellow agent, no doubt one at least as skilled and probably more experienced than I was. I would work with whoever they assigned me, but they could not command the instinctive allegiance of my heart. There were no fellow agents that I thought would want to do me harm; still, you were the only one I could completely trust with my life. And I believe the same was true for you.  
You became very good at it, my sister. Hiding your feelings, masking them with others, ones that are easier to feel - switching grief with rage, horror with disgust, pity with contempt. Sometimes you even fooled me. But Irina, not even you can hide the truth indefinitely. It must come out in some subtle way, as it always does. And it did. I saw it, and I know.  
The month before you were to leave, we were pouring over the files of your possible targets: young, up-and-coming CIA agents with a likelihood for fast advancement within the agency. I remember how, after our initial "professional" assessments, in one of our rare moments of relaxation, we flipped idly through the files again, making comments on the men's appearances, personal histories, and speculating on what bad lovers they were - though really, that last one was mostly you. We were determinedly avoiding any serious discussion about your long-term mission and how it would affect us both.  
"Yech. I hope you don't get this one." I tossed a file of a squinty- eyed man aside.  
You glanced at me sideways from the one you were perusing. "You know, Katya, I think I understand why Khasinau didn't tap you for this assignment. Despite your - sufficient - looks, you just don't know how to hold a man's attention."  
I picked up squinty-eye's file again and threw it at you. "On second thought, I hope you do get this one. You deserve him."  
Looking at the picture, you wrinkled your nose in distaste, laughed, and chucked it halfway across the room. "Well, I have been trained to withstand torture." We both laughed. Then, unexpectedly, your face grew serious. "Katya, when I- "  
"Ooh, look!" I said hastily, scrambling for something to deflect this unexpected turn in the conversation. "What about this one?"  
You sighed impatiently as I handed you another file. "Katya, don't try and -" You stopped mid-sentence, cocked your head, and your expression grew pensive. You had clearly been intrigued.  
"What's so interesting?" While relieved I had managed to distract you, I was also curious. Truth be told, I hadn't even looked at the file I handed you; I had just grabbed the closest one and hoped it contained something interesting enough to distract you. Apparently, I had succeeded, but I wanted to know why. Pulling myself up from the floor and sitting next to you on the bed, I peered over your shoulder to see what had so captivated your attention. It was a face. The face of a man named Jonathan D. Bristow.  
"Hmm." I surveyed the photo with a cursory interest. He was rather good-looking, but then, so were several of your potential "assignments." My gaze shifted to you, as I wondered what it was about this particular man that had you so entranced. I smiled to myself when I realized I had an opportunity to irritate you. "Have a favorite now, do we?"  
"Oh, shut up." You snapped, folding the file shut and looking for all the world as if you didn't care a bit about which man you were assigned to. Yet as we gathered up the files and stacked them neatly back in the corner, to be studied again later, I noticed you put Bristow's on top, smoothing the papers and thoughtfully biting your lip.  
"You know, you have to remember that it's just an assignment." I cautioned, switching my tone from taunting to serious. After all, it was my job to help you prepare.  
"I know." You sighed, displaying the first real sign of reluctance I had seen from throughout our preparations. "It's just - it would be nice to get someone I could . well, that I could like, you know."  
"If it weren't for the fact that he was a capitalist pig."  
You smiled slightly, nodded. "If it weren't for that, yes."  
"Don't forget why you're going to be doing this, Irina. I know it will be very hard. I . don't think anyone else could do it, actually. No one else has the level of skill you do." You looked up at me, surprised. Other than the occasional "nice op" or "good idea," we avoided praising one another's work, as a rule. "And I'm saying that because it's true, not because you're my sister. I wish it weren't true." I muttered before I could stop myself. I felt my face flush when I realized I had said the last part out loud. "What I mean is - "  
You stopped me with a look, one that I wanted to avoid, but couldn't. Then you gave me a sad smile as you wrapped me in one of your bone-crushing hugs. Those hugs were like your tears; rare, but always sincere, and welcome because they were needed. "I know, Katya. I'll miss you too." 


	2. Love and Desire

I Know You Love Him  
  
Chapter Two: Love and Desire  
  
"You are certain of this now, Irina."  
"Yes."  
"You realize this is your final chance to back out. After this, you reach a point of no return. Should you abandon you mission, I cannot predict what will happen, but I know it will not be pleasant." Punishment from the KGB. Fom Russia itself. That was what Khasinau meant.  
"I understand." Your face was stone. I could only hope mine displayed the same lack of emotion, as I looked on you for what could be the last time. The thought occurred to me that after this, I was going to need a really big distraction. I wondered idly what it would feel like to get really drunk.  
"Good." Khasinau smiled and put his hand on your shoulder and squeezed reassuringly as he gave you the final assignment file. I read the name of your target in the infinitesimal flutter of your eyelids, and the slight thinning of your lips. "I know you can do this, Irina. I cannot say that I am glad to see you leave us, but I could not put this assignment in more capable hands." "Thank you, sir." You shook his hand, and then, in a seemingly impulsive gesture, you embraced him, gave him an intimate, lingering kiss on the cheek. "I'll miss you . I'll miss it here too." You had invaded his suave, smug demeanor, broken his composure with the surprise of your touch, if only for the briefest of instants. He cleared his throat as his face resumed its usual expression of serenity and control. "Well," he nodded, "I will give you two a moment." We smiled at each other, both amused that you had gotten to him. If you could unsettle Khasinau that quickly, poor Mr. Bristow wouldn't stand a chance. But the smiles quickly faded and - well, my memory blurs at this point. The next thing I clearly remember is your absence, and Khasinau beside me again as I struggled to contain my emotions. He squeezed my shoulder then, much the way he had yours. He put his lips close to my ear, and murmured softly, "I know it is hard. But you should be very proud of your sister." I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat and breathing a grim sigh of satisfaction as I mastered myself. Still, he did not let go. I stiffened as his index finger grazed my neck. "You should not be alone tonight. Come, have some dinner with me, and together we will pretend to forget she is gone." I turned my head so I look him directly in the eyes - those cool, calculating gray eyes, ones that were now surveying me with a more-than- cursory interest. Physically, he was very attractive to me. But that did not make my words to him any more difficult. "I see how it is now. You cannot have the sister you want, so you will settle for the other. I will not be your substitute for Irina." He laughed softly, took his hand off me. "You never could be. For one thing, you are far too forward. Your sister is a subtler little witch. In contrast, you are almost . refreshing." He drew closer to me, too aware, I think, that I found him desirable. "Besides, no one could replace your sister. Just as no one could replace you. No," he protested as I backed away, rolling my eyes. "This is not a man's shallow flattery. Surely you know that, while she has many qualities you do not, the reverse is also true. In all honesty, Katya, I find you as attractive as your dear sister - simply in a different way." I looked at him doubtfully, hoping I didn't show any sign of surprise or pleasure at his statements. He smiled to see my hesitation. "Another thing that is different about you, my dear. You are more deliberate, more cautious. I have always found this curious. I would've assumed that Irina possessed the greater measure of wisdom, having more slightly experience than you, but ." He paused, pleased that he had coaxed a small smile onto my face. "I am asking you to come to dinner, you know. Not into my bed." At least not necessarily, I thought. "Just dinner. I care for your sister, and wish to commiserate her absence with someone who can empathize. Is that so much to ask?" I kept my voice carefully neutral as I replied: "I supposed not." He smiled his disarming smile once again as he offered his arm. I took it, and felt my pulse quicken. Mentally, I shrugged to myself. Why the hell not? On my third glass of wine, Khasinau made a suggestion. But it was not the one I had expected. "We are developing a code to communicate orders to agents like Irina, those who are under deep cover. She has told me that you are skilled with language, encryption, that you enjoy manipulating communications. Given your forthright attitude, I find this surprising." He furrowed his brow in mock confusion, and I, always more inclined to find things amusing after my third drink, let out a laugh. "I thought you might enjoy working on this project. With me. Ultimately, you would 'write' our communiqués to your sister. What do you say, my dear?" He paused to let his words sink in."Really?" I suppressed a hiccup. "Why are you even asking? Of course I'll do it! As long as I can still have some missions in the field," I added hastily. After all, field ops were the most exciting, and I could already hear you, Irina, chastising me for losing my edge while you were gone. Khasinau nodded, looking pleased with himself. "Of course. Well, I knew you would like that. If your work is good enough, you might even be able to sneak in a few personal messages - though I doubt you would ever presume to abuse the system so." Again, I blamed my laughter on the wine. Where I place the blame for what happened next is an entirely different matter. Suddenly, he had was out of his chair, putting his hand on my shoulder again, and then resting it lightly, teasingly, on my neck. "I am glad that this pleases you, Katya. I would like to please you." And before another thought could cross my wine-soaked brain, he was kissing me, softly at first, then more insistently, practically lifting me out of my seat as he took me in his arms, and drew me very close to him. As I felt myself responding, felt my arms slip around his neck, I also felt myself let go of my remaining pride. I wanted this. I wanted him. I knew then, as I have always known, that there is a fundamental difference between love and desire, no matter how much we try to make them out to be the same thing. I was fully aware of which of these two things I felt for Khasinau. So, exhilarated as I was by his touch, I had no illusions, and was unafraid. Love and desire. I suppose they can occur simultaneously, but they never have for me. Tell me, my sister, what does it feel like when this happens? What was it like for you? 


	3. Communications

I Know You Love Him  
  
Chapter Three: Communication  
  
Year One:  
  
*Eliminate Targets:  
Jeffrey Spinelli, CIA  
Mercy Winslow, CIA  
Lupita Villalobos, CIA  
Andrew Yeger, CIA  
Anthony Irving, FBI  
Melissa Scully, FBI  
Arnold Skinner, FBI  
Samantha Mulder, FBI  
  
Collect Information:  
Project Christmas, CIA Be careful, brown sparrow. What is it like over there?  
End Communication.  
  
*Targets:  
Jeffrey Spinelli, CIA – eliminated  
Mercy Winslow, CIA – eliminated  
Lupita Villalobos, CIA – eliminated  
Andrew Yeger, CIA – eliminated  
Anthony Irving, FBI – eliminated  
Melissa Scully, FBI – eliminated  
Arnold Skinner, FBI – eliminated  
Samantha Mulder, FBI – eliminated  
  
Information on Project Christmas: Pending Don't worry, black sparrow. I always am. America is grotesque, full of wasteful, selfish people. But it is also very ...alive. And I've never been so warm in the winter.  
End Communication.  
  
Year Two:  
  
*Request:  
Project Christmas Intel update They are getting impatient, brown sparrow. What are you doing?  
End Communication.  
  
*Preliminary report on Project Christmas is in development. Extremely difficult to gain access to target's Intel. He's not an idiot, black sparrow. I have to get closer to him, gain his trust.  
End Communication  
  
Year Three:  
  
*Project Christmas intel is vital. Obtain by any means necessary. Get that intel! Brown sparrow, I am worried for you. Alexander has hinted that the KGB is thinking about cutting their losses on this mission. I don't think this contingency plan includes your extraction. Come up with something fast.  
End Communication.  
  
*Project Christmas intel attached. More to come. Black sparrow: I'm married. I married the target. It was the only way. I'm married. I'm his wife. Oh God, what have I done? Did I tell you I'm married?  
I have never been so happy in my life. He loves me.  
End Communication.  
  
*Eliminate Targets:  
Myra Walker, CIA  
William Vaughn, CIA  
Marcus Taggert, CIA  
Walter Hutchinson, CIA  
James Dorian, CIA  
Ellen Amos, CIA Brown sparrow: Are you crazy? Alexander has used all of his influence to justify your actions to his superiors. Your Intel had better be accurate, and plentiful. These agents you are to assassinate – they are relatively unimportant. They are really a test. You understand? A test. They suspect you've gone soft. These killings must be brutal. I mean brutal.  
And another thing, brown sparrow: Bristow does not love you. He only loves the image you project. You've always told me you'd never fall in love. What is happening?  
End Communication  
  
*Targets:  
Myra Walker, CIA – eliminated  
Michael Vaughn Sr., CIA – eliminated  
Marcus Taggert, CIA – eliminated  
Walter Hutchinson, CIA– eliminated  
James Dorian, CIA – eliminated  
Ellen Amos, CIA – eliminated  
  
Project Christmas update report. I told you, it was the only way! As for Bristow, his emotional state is an advantage; that is what I meant. That is all I meant. I am not in love with him. So I may not hate him; I may even like him. But I do not love him. Proof of my loyalty? The information I have gathered on Project Christmas is probably more extensive than the CIA's own files. And as for the tests, well, here's a sampler: the CIA will have to identify Vaughn by his teeth. Is that brutal enough for Mother Russia? And by the way, how long have you and Khasinau been on a first-name basis? End Communication.  
  
Year Four:  
  
*Project Christmas update requested. Brown sparrow: My God. Are you sure? End Communication.  
  
*Project Christmas update pending.  
Black sparrow: Yes. I'm pregnant. Don't let them give the order to abort ... anything. Jack already knows. I won't do it. They can't make me. I won't kill my baby! End Communication.  
  
*Project update approved. Regarding other matter: carry to term.  
You have no idea the hoops I had to jump through with Alexander for this. Not to mention the mess with the rest of the KGB. Essentially, I had to agree to a yearlong assignment in Australia so that you can keep the child. Australia. Do you know what is there? Nothing! There is nothing except rumors that a former intelligence officer is living in Sydney. Some British ex-patriot who may or may not have useful information, if he exists at all. This is an assignment for a recruit, a "grunt!" This is a punishment, that's what this is. Punishment for my loyalty for you. I don't know if they will even continue to let me write these communiqués. They may assign someone else. Do me a favor: after this pregnancy, sterilize yourself or something, OK? I mean it. Have I ever told you how much I hate kangaroos? You owe me BIG.  
And brown sparrow: congratulations. You should come vacation in Sydney with your American family, and find me. To hell with protocol. End Communication.  
  
Year Ten:  
  
*The FBI knows. Gather final intelligence, then abort mission. Instructions on extraction are as follows.  
  
Get out. If you don't leave, they will kill your husband and child.  
  
End Communication. 


	4. The Interim

I Know You Love Him  
  
Chapter Four: The Interim  
  
Some women really do love their husbands. I wasn't one of them. I meant Andrian Lazarey in London. It turned out the British intelligence officer had been in Australia for sometime, but a sudden resurgence of "patriotism" sent him scurrying back to his native soil when I tracked him down. Actually, after I found him and presented the KGB's offer, I think he panicked; he really didn't have much to offer us, and the potential risks of "using" him far outweighed any potential benefits. I soon realized that the real goal of my mission was practically a fore- gone conclusion: this man had to be eliminated. It was still grunt work, and Andrian didn't have nearly as much clearance as I did. But he did help me track down my target once I got to England. I think it was his parentage more than his skills that caused the KGB to partner us. When Andrian proposed, we were far from intimate; I was still sleeping with Alexander, although infrequently. Andrian hadn't even kissed me; he was surprisingly old fashioned that way. (Well, there was that one time in Prague, but every body knows that missions don't really count.) Still, we had been working together very closely for two years. I had come to enjoy his company. His aristocratic manner was sometimes irritating, but paradoxically, I found it endearing as well. I thought about it for a while – what it could mean for both of our careers, what it would be like to be tied to a man in this way, to owe him something. Perhaps it was simply because I was getting older, but the no- strings relationship I had maintained with Alexander Khashinau was beginning to lose some of its appeal. So I did it – I said "yes." In the end, I do not think it was for the illusion of love, but for the tritest of reasons that I entered into marriage: I wanted companionship. What I did not want was a child. I was terrified when I discovered I was pregnant. It happened just a few months after we were married. I was still laughing inside my mind at the irony of Alexander giving me away at the altar. Every doctor I had ever seen told me it would be virtually impossible for me to conceive. I acted disappointed, as everyone expected me to, but secretly, I was relieved. I thanked God and whatever deformed strand of DNA that had bestowed this gift upon me. I knew I would ruin whatever came out of my womb as surely as I had ruined Ella, our younger sister. I was far too selfish to be a mother. And I though I had accepted being tied to Andrian, I never wanted to bear his son. I wish I could say that everything changed when I told my husband, or that everything changed as we waited out the nine months, and I suffered the indignities to my body. I wish I could say my feelings of fear, my selfish concerns, melted the instant my little boy was in my arms. But it was not that way at all. My acceptance of my motherhood was a gradual process. At first, I was afraid to hold him, to even touch him. I was afraid when he cried I would lose my temper and do something incredibly wrong. But when I saw that stupid nanny cradling him, coddling him with such simple-minded, oblivious ease, fury and possessiveness took a hold of me. I'd snatch him from her and hold him clumsily, incorrectly, while we argued. Eventually, I fired her. And it seemed, as soon I grew comfortable with him in my arms, he was too big for me to carry. Indeed, he didn't like being carried, or even holding my hand. What he wanted to wander about on his own, slowly and deliberately examining everything around him. He was a quiet, pensive child with very little resemblance to his father. For this, I was glad. He was, is, incredibly intelligent: in short, a genius. This is not an opinion, colored by a mother's thinly veiled self-importance. It is a fact. They did tests. For four years, we lived a relatively normal, peaceful existence. Andrian, under the guise of his diplomatic title, gathered information for the KGB, and I used my linguistic skills to relay the intel back to Russia in "letters" to Alexander. I wonder sometimes, in those brief moments before I fall asleep at night, if it could have gone on this way indefinitely. Would my apathetic affection for my husband have deepened somehow into love? I doubt it. Alexander came to see us, a visit that was part social-call, part business. For once, the "business" was taken care of surprisingly easily; I assassinated a new arrival to the American embassy (a CIA plant) and got home in time to have dinner with my family. Andrian was not pleased. Though he would never admit it, he found it very emasculating that I had been tapped for this assignment and he hadn't. But I had a record for "clean" kills, executed with a minimum of fuss; in contrast, he was sloppy. " I suppose this will increase your status," he said over dinner, referring to my standing with the KGB. Knowing how it grated on him, I had to smile. Sometimes, he was so controlling, and I relished the few opportunities I had to remind him of my power. "Don't be jealous, darling. I'll still be your obedient wife." The look he gave me indicated that he did not find my attitude amusing. "Of course, when it comes to official matters, you might have to take orders from me..." He gave me the "You're really pushing it now Katya" look. "Oh, relax." I sighed, annoyed with him for being irritated so easily. Was he that insecure? He had been doing so much of the "work" lately. I deserved this. He grunted, frowned. Julian, my son, looked from one of us to the other, sensing the tension. "Mommy, help me get ready for bed," he said in Russian. Andrian smiled. He was always pleased at how naturally Julian spoke our native tongue, despite his English-soaked surroundings. "You need to finish dinner," I said automatically. I winced when I realized how stereotypical I sounded. He pushed his food around on his plate and made a face. "Your mother is right; you are far too skinny. Eat. All your intelligence is nothing without strength." This was Andrian's idea of praise. Julian started in on his dinner again, chewing slowly, as if he were mulling over every bite. His father was pleased that his words seemed to hold more sway over our son than mine. Like it was some damn competition. I surprised myself with the force of this thought. Perhaps I was just irritable because it had been a long day. I smiled tightly at my husband to signify a truce. I think of this as our last "happy" moment together. Later, as I gave Julian a bath, he said solemnly, "We fixed Dad's feelings, huh?" and I could've sworn he winked at me. I gave my husband a seductive glance as we got ready for bed. Fool that I was, I thought a little exercise in passion would change his mood. I was at a point in my life when I was almost beginning to believe I loved him. "You seem to be very friendly with Khashinau." I stiffened. Had I confused professional envy with personal jealousy? Perhaps he was insecure, not as an agent, but as a man. "Well, we did work together for a long time back home." "Was that all you did, work together?" I turned to face him fully. At least he was being direct. "We were lovers." His face tightened. His hands clenched, grasping the blankets on our bed. "Why did you not tell me this?" "Because you never asked. Just as I never asked you all the sordid details about whom you slept with before we were together. Honestly, Andrian –" Suddenly, he was up from the bed, his hand gripping my arm painfully. Before I could react, he had hit me, and I fell to the floor. He dragged back up. He sat me down in front of the mirror, on the edge of the bed. "Look at yourself," he whispered. "You bitch. Haven't I been good enough for you? Have you gotten bored with me? What do you want? The exciting life, sleeping with a different man in every city? Laughing before you make the next kill?" My mouth opened and no sound came out. I was in shock. He threw me down on the bed. "Go to sleep," he snarled. I heard him stomp through the house, leave, slam the front door, knowing Julian must have heard. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. A jealous, broken man ... no, I simply couldn't have done it. It was just too cliché, too melodramatic, too much like a tragic novel. But when he came home, reeking of vodka, he pushed himself on top of me, in the darkness. And it was only because I was too strong and he was too drunk that nothing happened. As I pushed him off of me and fled for the living room couch, I knew the truth I had married a man like my father. 


	5. Fall of a Sparrow

I Know You Love Him  
  
Chapter Five: Fall of a Sparrow  
  
"Katya, I'm so sorry –"  
I didn't let my husband finish. I punched him in the face, kicked him hard in the groin, and beat him mercilessly. I put him in a terrible state. Far worse than he had done to me. But I knew he deserved it, and I was enjoying every blow. I thought for a while about continuing, prolonging his suffering, but in memory of our "loving" marriage I decided to be kind. I picked up my gun and blew his brains out. Somehow, there was no blood, no brain matter splattering anywhere. I knew what it was. It was because I was a professional. My kills were always clean.  
I had widowed myself. I was a professional widow.  
  
"Katya, I'm so sorry."  
I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and looked up from my makeshift bed on the couch into the face of my husband. His eyes were brimming with tears. He looked so very contrite. He reached for my hand. "Katya.... things ... got out of hand. You know I didn't mean to.... I would never hurt you, truly. I love you, Katya. You know that."  
Bastard.  
I looked up at this man that I had married, this man that I had lived with for years and never known at all. I bit my lip, furrowed my brow, and let the tears slide down my face. I knew what I had to do.  
"I know. Oh Andrian, I know."  
So he took me in his arms. How gently he kissed me, how tender he was. I let him make love to me, right there on the couch. Just an obedient wife should. If it had been you, Irina, you would have killed him instantly. But I have always been so much more patient than you, especially when it comes to matter of revenge. For the next few months, Andrian was especially attentive to our son. Our son. He knew everything. I put a lot of make-up on to cover up the bruises. But he still knew. It hurt me, to leave him there alone with his father. One day, I told Andrian I was going to Moscow. I told him I would ask Alexander to release me from field duties with the KGB. I told my husband, I would receive the assignments, translate the code; but he would carry them out. Andrian was delighted with this idea, as I knew he would be. Passionately, he kissed me goodbye, and bid me to come home quickly with good news. That was the last time I ever saw him. Alive. It was almost too easy. A week later, mother Russia had granted me a divorce because my husband was serving a life sentence in a Siberian prison camp. If not for the influence and power of his family, he surely would have been executed. I'm not sure what he did to get himself in such trouble. But I know it must have been something very, very bad. My dear friend Alexander Khashinau was extremely adept at helping me deal with my grief over the situation.  
Afterwards, I wanted to go to London, to pick up my son. He was living with the Sark family, some British "friends" of ours. Actually, they were traitors to their country, and were very well paid to baby-sit the brilliant son of two Russian spies. It was Alexander who made me see sense, and warned me to stay away. Andrian's family didn't know where Julian was. If I reclaimed him, they would've found out, and they would have taken him from me. They had never really approved of the marriage in the first place. And he was not prepared to go up against the Lazareys just so I could keep my son. I was valuable to Alexander as an agent (and in other ways). But he had already helped me with Andrian; there were limits to his generosity, after all.  
So I left my son there. I abandoned my claims to motherhood. What he is today, what he has become – I cannot judge, condemn or condone. I have no right even to call him "mine." Perhaps he hates me. That is his right. Irina, I do not think he believes what you told him about how much I loved him then, and how much I still do now. The one time I saw him, he said only this: that you have been a mother to him. Not me. It is you who have taken care of him, in your own twisted way. I suppose I should be grateful, but sometimes, I hate you for it. Tell me one thing. How did you lay claim on Sydney when you returned to her? How did you manage to elicit love in you daughter's heart? I myself would never dare to try. Still, I would like to know how you did it. I've always felt a mother that willingly abandons her child gives up the right to ask for that child's love. But I do thank you, my sister. I thank you for trying to make Julian understand that, though I may not have his love, he will always have mine. 


	6. Farewell to Sentiment

I Know You Love Him  
  
Chapter 6: Farwell to Sentiment  
  
Familiar. Too familiar. Standing there, between you and Alexander, trying to see in your face the sister I had know so well, a decade before. Your face was impassive. I don't you what you and he were talking about before I entered the room, but you stopped speaking immediately, and I felt the silence stretch between us, nearly unbearable, until Alexander cleared his throat.  
"You have a debriefing later, Irina. I am not sure how extensive it will be." Your brow furrowed for a moment, as if you didn't understand, and then slowly, the clouds lifted from your eyes, and you nodded wearily. It took me a moment to realize. Russian.  
Alexander was speaking Russian. You had not spoken a single word of your mother tongue in ten years. Not even with your handler. Not even in your mind. I could see behind it behind your eyes: not only had you been speaking in English; you had been thinking in it. You were still thinking it.  
I gave Alexander an appealing look. "The two of you will have an hour or so to get reacquainted." As he left the room, he gave my shoulder a light squeeze. He also gave me what was either a genuinely compassionate look, or a very good imitation of one. Alexander. Every now and then, he could be surprisingly decent.  
I turned to look at you, half-hoping for a jeering comment about him, but not really expecting anything. I was right. And you could not seem to quite look me in the eye. Fear curled up in the pit of my stomach. Where is my sister?  
"It's good to finally see you again. Irina." I spoke in Russian.  
You looked up, opened your mouth as if to correct me, and snapped it shut again. Silence again. Distance between us. The only time in my life I have ever felt disconnected from you.  
Where is my sister?  
"Rina," I babbled desperately, "I know it must be terrible, but you – you have done a great service for your country. Our country. You should be –"  
You looked at me then. Stopped me with a glare. I was actually relieved to see your eyes blazing, even if it was in anger. At least there was something. At least when you spoke, you seemed to remember Russian.  
"Say it. Proud."  
Where is my sister?  
"Go on. Just say it."  
Where is my sister?  
"Say it so I can slit your throat."  
I smiled. There you are. "I've missed you too, Irina."  
You let out a laugh that quickly turned into a cry. I rushed to put my arms around you. You were not made to be like this. "My sister, you are home. Your country. Your home."  
"My country," you said hoarsely. "My mission. My husband. My daughter. My country. My mission..." you voice became almost sing-song, a self-mockery. You let out another disturbing laugh. You slid to the ground, and I held you there. This was the only time I saw you cry. I had heard a sniffle on occasion in our childhood, seen a brushed aside tear once every eon, but not this. Not gasping sobs as you buried your head in my shoulder, muttering brokenly, switching back and forth between English and Russian. It was then that I first heard the name: Rimbaldi. It made no more sense to me than the rest of your words did, and I ignored it then, forgetting or not hearing what you said in connection to it, but storing the unfamiliar name in the back of my mind. Later.  
And you spoke other names, names I knew. Jack. Sydney. Laura. Bristow. Emily.  
Arvin Sloane. At this name, my grip on you, and my jaw - both tightened at the same time. Gradually, you quieted. I glanced at my watch, and cursed silently in every language I knew. Keep in mind, I know as many at least as many as you do, if not more. My God. It had already been an hour? I felt panic rising in my throat as I looked at your red, puffy face. They would know. They would be able to tell.  
"Katya, how I am going to –"  
I cut you off. "You listen to me now," I whispered, swallowing my own tears and trying to sound steadier than I felt. "First thing – Bristow. Contempt, Irina. He fell for your act. Your act. You hate him."  
"But –"  
"You. Hate. Him."  
You nodded. You made your lips form a tight smile. You looked at me, and your eyes became cold, impenetrable. "Naturally. Of course." You gave a little laugh, ran your hand across your face. "I hate him." You swallowed, nodding, as I eyed your wedding ring, and frowned. Always a quick study, you caught on. You slid the ring off your finger, tossed it carelessly on the floor, and we both stood up.  
"Thank you, Katya."  
"That is what a sister is for, Rina."  
You looked at me thoughtfully. "You know, I just realized something."  
I cocked my head. "Oh?"  
"Khasinau. You've slept with him."  
I felt my face color, and got angry with myself for letting your words affect me so. This is ridiculous. "Irina –"  
"A lot." "Irina –" "Hmm. Multiple positions, too." "Rina!" "And it's been quite good as well. My little sister has been keeping herself busy. Hmm. But of course, now that I am back, I expect he'll toss you aside." You had already braced yourself, waiting for me to try and strike you. But I have always had a cooler head than you, Irina. And ten years without your taunts had made me almost nostalgic for them. "Fine." I gave you a toothy grin, enjoying your surprise. "You can help yourself to my leftovers. Consider it a welcome-home gift." The look on your face. I will remember it for the rest of my life. Just at that moment, Alexander Khashinau strolled back into the room. For a long moment, we both stared at him. And then, we just burst out laughing. He looked between us, well aware that we were sharing some sort of joke at his expense, but still seeming content to let it pass. "I don't want to know. Irina," he added more grimly. "It's time now." Then his eye caught a glint of gold on the ground. He looked back up at you face, which you all- too-hastily turned towards me. "Oh, Katya – get rid of that for me, will you?" You said, and you winked at him. I frowned, thinking your flippancy was a bit overdone. He gave you an enigmatical look. It was difficult to read, but it did not mask his renewed attraction to you. I did not feel especially possessive of him, at that particular time, nor any other time during our involvement. Still, I did not enjoy watching his gaze roam over your body with such obvious and tactless intensity. I rolled my eyes in disgust. Honestly, couldn't he wait to ogle you until after I left the room? Men. Then I told myself that I should be pleased: after all, if his libido was blinding him to the truth I could so easily read in your eyes, so much the better. "They are waiting for you, my dear." You nodded and walked out, leaving Alexander and I alone in the room. He smiled at me, almost sadly. "Katya, you know, you are still unique. Irreplaceable." I gave him my sweetest look. "Wish I could say the same for you. Darling." "You little witch." He crossed the room quickly and kissed me, laughing when I pushed him away. "Oh Katya, come now..." He stroked my neck, reminding me of how much I still enjoyed his touch. "Old time's sake, and all that...." He drew me closer, kissing me relentlessly. "We are what we are." "Irina ... is not ... going to ... sleep with you." I managed to get this out between kisses, though I was finding it increasingly difficult to speak. At least, not any time soon. "Oh, I know that." This statement startled me so much that I broke apart from him, a bit breathless, to stare. "But surely you would agree," he continued, "for me to pine – "You mean lust –" "Whatever. After your sister, while I continue to," another kiss, "with you ... now that is just unfair. And in completely poor taste." Two surprisingly decent gestures in one day? My eyes narrowed. "Exactly what angle are you working here, Alexander Khashinau?" He laughed. "You Derevko women are all the same. So pessimistic. So mistrustful. Allow yourself a little sentiment for once, Katya, and I promise I won't tell anyone. You and I – well, as I said, we are what we are. Nothing more, nothing less." "And what are we, exactly?" I asked, my voice dropping almost to a whisper. In response, he kissed me again, lifting me off the ground as I twined my legs nimbly around his waist. "You come to bed with me one last time, Katya. And you just let me show you." 


	7. Pressure

I Know You Love Him  
  
Chapter 7: Pressure  
  
If only I hadn't let you cry before they debriefed you, Irina, I thought to myself, a year after they incarcerated you, I wouldn't have to be doing this to Alexander now. Not that I really minded having to do it. He lied to me about you, and like a fool, I believed him. I should have known you would not have volunteered for fieldwork again, not so soon after your harrowing ten-year mission. I should have suspected the truth when he gave me my own yearlong, deep cover mission, a few days after the "last" time we slept together. I was disgusted with myself. I had committed what is, in the life we have lead for so long, and the only life I know how to lead, an unforgivable sin. I had trusted him. Without question, I had trusted him. It made me sick to think this was the closest I ever came to being in love. But when I returned and discovered the truth, Alexander found himself in a very bad situation indeed. If not for the fact that I needed his help, I might have considered to slitting his throat, as I stood in his bedroom that day.  
"Katya, if this is your new idea of foreplay..." He gave a weak laugh that did not mask his fear. I glared at him as I held a knife to his throat, noting the beads of sweat running down his forehead. Panicking. Over a knife. Hadn't he been through hand-to-hand combat training, like the rest of us? Perhaps he had been out of the field for too long. Too much deskwork had slowed his reflexes, that much was certain. It had been so easy to take him by surprise. I was disgusted, that he was becoming less attractive to me with each passing second. At least, that's what I told myself. "You are going to help me." "Katya –" I pressed the knife to his throat, causing him to bleed just a little. Just enough so that he could imagine how much more of his blood I could shed if I decided to. "I am going to get Irina out of Kashmir, and you are going to help me do it." "The repercussions – for all of us –" "I am not interested in the repercussions. I don't care." Some of the fear on his face was replaced by anger. This suited him better. "The KGB will hunt us down. You will have rescued your sister only to have both of us executed by her side – for treason!" I smirked as I drew myself closer to him. "When did you start being such a patriot again, Alexander? It wasn't so very long ago that you were complaining to me about the woebegone state of our government. In fact, I seem to remember you predicting the downfall of this Soviet Union by the end of this decade. I was rather shocked to hear you say such a thing out loud, but then, you are my superior, after all's said and done. Of course, I haven't mentioned your little comment to any of your superiors ... yet." His expression blackened. "You little bitch, you can't blackmail me!" "Oh yes I can." I pressed myself against him, pinning him to the wall. I lifted the knife from his throat and put my mouth where it had been, tasting his blood on my lips and tongue, and sensing his sharp intake of breath as I expertly nuzzled his neck, recalling very quickly what had pleased him in our past liaisons. I pulled back to take in the strange alchemy of fear, lust, and rage that was emerging on his face, and smiled. "But it doesn't have to be that way. I don't want it to be that way. Just think, Alexander. The three of us – with our combined resources, contacts, connections, and skills – we could go freelance. Aren't you sick of it," I asked, as I ran my free hand lightly up his arm, "this blind devotion a dying ideology?" "I supposed I have become ... disillusioned ... with the government," Alexander replied, some of the anger receding from his features. I placed my thumb against the wound I'd inflicted on his neck, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. "But this is going to take time ... and help from someone working on the inside." We looked at each other, both thinking of the same man. "Cuvee." I said. He nodded. "Rumor is that he's already begun establish ties to organized crime ... in several countries, as well as here at home." "Rumor?" "All right, so he told me. Well, more or less, anyway. He might be interested in joining a ... freelance ... organization. Still, I'm not sure if he will help us –" "Of course he will! He not stupid; he sees the handwriting on the wall as clearly as we do. And besides, he has even more of a thing for Irina than you." I regretted that as soon I said it. I shouldn't have given him such an easy opening. Sensing it was good moment to establish some measure of control in the situation, Alexander leaned forward, returning the pressure of my body against his, and I felt my breath catch unwillingly in my throat. Damn it. "Don't you know that was all a ruse? Too make you jealous, and more possessive of me? Pity it didn't work." I suppose it had too long since ... well ... let's just I almost let the knife drop, right then. But I managed to master my desire, though it was with some difficulty that I did so. For just an instant, I idly considered putting it to his throat again. Only as a precaution, of course. But then his arms slipped enticingly around me, and I hastily compromised by flinging it across the room, so it was out of reach for both of us. Trusting him this time was a calculated risk, one I took for you. It had nothing to do with what I wanted. Really. Before my mind began to cloud over with more selfish thoughts, I made sure Alexander and I were on the same page regarding your situation. "We are in agreement then?" Determined, I turned my head so he could not stop my mouth with his, only to find him kissing my neck, my shoulder in a way that made me shiver, overwhelmed by the power of forgotten sensations. Damn it. "We ... have an understanding?" "Yes," he paused, taking in the effect his embrace had on me, and clearly enjoying it. "This will mean abandoning Mother Russia earlier than I planned – what, you assume I never think ahead? –" He asked, as I let out a snort of disbelief, "but it will give us a head start, an edge over the other organizations that are sure to emerge in the wake of the Union's fall." "We should get started then." He started to kiss me again. On my mouth now. This was diverting. Extremely diverting. Damn it damn it damn it! Some men – most men – have one-track minds. "Soon." "Now. Today." He sighed, and surprisingly, released me. His voice was sullen as he launched into an explanation. "Katya," he said, "I had already arranged for you to visit Irina in Kashmir, right after your debrief tomorrow. All I need to do now is alert Cuvee of our intent. He can leak the prison blueprints to her, along with a mapping of the terrain; you can communicate to her a rendezvous date, the specific time when we will pick her up in Pakistan. Then we can all begin, as you said, freelancing. Cuvee could even given us an 'assignment,' as a front for our activities. If we are careful, we can stay one step ahead of KGB counter-intelligence, and by the time they realize what we are doing, they will be extinct." He had planned ahead. As I realized this, I couldn't help but admire him, though I had a reservation. "But what if Cuvee –" "If you are concerned about him double-crossing us, you can stop worrying right now. I have plenty of dirt on him, information that will make him abandon any plans for betrayal. And I'm sure you will agree that your sister is more than capable of escaping the actual facility on her own, as long as she has the knowledge of its layout. Here," he snapped, seeing my still-doubtful expression, as he picked up a thick folder from his nightstand and tossed it at me, "passport, authorization forms – everything you need to gain access to Irina. Official sanctions and all." I gaped at him, completely taken aback by his ... what? What was it that motivated him to do this for me, unasked? Affection? Generosity? Kindness? Not possible. Not from him, not for me. There was just no way we had that strong of a connection. More likely, it was an attempt to placate me, in anticipation my wrath when I learned about his deception. Or else, it was simply an expert manipulation of my emotions. Still, I couldn't be sure. I must admit, I continue to ponder his reasons to this day. Meanwhile, Alexander glared at me, seeming genuinely offended as he took in my shocked expression. "You are an impossible woman! You know that, don't you Katya?" he ranted. "For God's sake! Give me a little credit here, all right? Granted, I'm not in love with you or anything ridiculous like that, but every now and then it would be nice of you to give me a little cred –" So I kissed him, more forcefully than I had done anything in a long time, slipping my arms around his neck, and drawing him towards the bed. "I'll give you more than that," I told him, my voice growing husky. "All right? Much more. I promise." This time, his laughter was genuine, and soft, as he pushed me onto the bed. "I knew that you still wanted me. The knife, the threats – it was your new idea of foreplay, after all." "Shut up," I murmured thickly, before he covered my mouth and my body with his own. "Just – shut up." "Didn't you have the chance to get laid at all on your last mission?" "Alexander, can't you think of a better way to use your mouth on me than doing all this stupid talking?" "Hmm. I guess that answers that question. Oh well, so much for 'one last time.'" 


	8. Affection and Love

I Know You Love Him  
  
Chapter 8: Affection and Love  
  
My fault.  
Your face was bruised and bloody. Your nose looked as though it had been broken at least once. You had several swollen, purple fingers that had probably been bent back during interrogation. There were deep circles under your eyes from lack of sleep. I could count your ribs, even through the heavy, rough-hewn clothing they had given you, and your skin was hanging off your bones. These things, I had expected. I had certainly not relished observing them, but I had braced myself for the shock of your physical state. What I was not ready for was the look I saw in your eyes.  
Oh God, I thought. Rina, what did you say to them, what did they make you do, what did make you confess? Please be faking, please be fortifying yourself somewhere deep inside where even I can't see. They can't have broken you. You are never broken. You can't be broken. This is all my fault – why did I trust Alexander Khashinau? You were not made to be this way. I'll get you I'll get you out I'll get you out.  
"You're looking well, my sister."  
Your laughter quickly turned into painful spasm of coughing, and I cursed myself silently as you cursed me aloud: "Bitch."  
I started the stream of inane babble I had memorized earlier. "Irina, they can't keep you here forever. Soon they will realize you could never be a traitor, and this will all be over..."  
I don't remember the rest. As I spoke, I crossed my arms, desperately tapping out Morse code with the two fingers of my left hand. Freelance. You, me, Cuvee, Khashinau. Say the codeword "sting" to Cuvee and he will begin leaking you blueprints, terrain mappings, bit by bit. We'll pick you up outside the compound. Memorize the sewers. Memorize the minefield configuration. How long will you need?  
You nodded absently to something stupid I was saying, but your eyes, and mind, were concentrated on my tapping fingers. When I stopped tapping, I kept talking, slower now, and you crossed your arms, taking your turn to respond. I prayed none of the guards watching on the monitors were observant enough to notice.  
A year. A year? I tried not to show surprise as you continued. I need to convince them I've given up, that I'm broken. I need to memorize these plans flawlessly, and I can't do it quickly in a place like this. Give me a year from today. I'll be out of the compound by midnight. Pick me up then.  
I almost nodded, and then caught myself. "... and you will be honored as the hero you are. Your name will be cleared, Irina. I know it."  
I took in the irony of your twisted smile, feeling as though a fist had closed over my heart. Unfair unfair unfair after everything you did and everything you sacrificed and then these bastards accuse you of treason unfair unfair unfair –  
I paused in my mental tirade as I saw your fingers tap out another word, in response to my last spoken statement. I had to bite my lip to keep my reaction in check, as I sounded it out in my head: B – U – L –L – S – H – I ...  
"Your time is up."  
I turned and told the guard what he could do with himself. He gave me a leer and said that he could think of someone better to do that with. His beady-eyed gaze flicked back and forth between you on one side of the bars, and me, on the other. I resisted the urge to break his neck, knowing his death would only cause more trouble for you. I hoped I would have an opportunity to kill him at a later date. I turned back to you, knowing there was nothing left to say, except "Goodbye." Something in my throat kept the word from coming out. Though I saw no blame in your eyes, no malice towards me, the phrase kept repeating in my head: My fault my fault my fault. God, I thought, I haven't felt this terrible since we were children. Since the day our parents sent you away.  
My eyes moved back down to your hand, and I stiffened infinitesimally, drawing in my breath, knowing the risk your were taking by doing this in the guard's presence, even as dimwitted as he was. Quickly you spelled out love you.  
Poor Irina. Your time in prison must have made you delusional. Or else, your time as Laura Bristow had made you disturbingly sentimental. Still, I found myself dangerously, foolishly, tapping out my response.  
Love you too.  
I never did manage to say "Goodbye."  
  
* * * *  
  
"I should have told you. Immediately." Alexander was giving me his 'either-genuinely-compassionate-or-a-very-good- imitation' look. It was an expression I'd gotten sick of after the first time I saw it. And after seeing you, I even felt a little guilty about the extremely enjoyable night I had just spent with him.  
  
Told me? No? You think? Damn straight, you should of told me, you son a ...  
  
I shrugged as I gave him a look of stone. "We need to start planning – "  
"Katya, listen," he sighed. What was with this new need to explain himself to me? It's not as though I'd ever asked. I just let him know when I was pissed. "I was worried about your reaction to this ... but not for the reasons you think!" He said, as he saw my eyes glint coldly at him. No doubt, they called to his mind the light reflecting off the knife I had put to his throat yesterday. "I know you do not take actions rashly, but when it comes to Irina ... well, anyone can see how close you two are, even after years apart. I feared you would do something desperate, something that would ultimately land you in a cell next to hers. I hope you can believe that I do not relish that idea. Still, I should have trusted you to judge the situation wisely enough for yourself. All right? I admit it, I should have told you. I'm ... sorry."  
I looked away. If he expected me to forgive him or something ... still, I needed him. His help to get you out of Kashmir. To set up our freelance organization. To stay one step ahead of the KGB.  
I softened myself just a little bit as I met his gaze again. I have to admit, he looked contrite. But I had seen men look contrite before. Actions impressed me more than appearances. And after all, he had brought me here to see you. "What's done is done. I don't want to dwell on it. What I want is to focus is freeing my sister, and establishing our organization." He looked at me and nodded, knowing that was the closest I would come to accepting his apology. I will say that he worked very hard to help me free you. You know, Irina, I really wish you hadn't had to shoot him.  
When we got you out, you looked even worse, but the spark in your eyes, your exhilaration at having outwitted your jailers – that was all I needed to see to know you were going to be all right. We almost triggered a land mine on the way out, but we made it. Cuvee had sent Alexander and I 'on assignment,' and had arranged for fairly comfortable living arrangements for us in the city of Tai Pei. We were supposed to wait until you "recovered" before starting to build up our organization. Of course, you wanted to get going as soon as your feet touched ground in the city, but I forced you to take it easy for a while, at least physically. With the help of both men, we managed to stay ahead of the KGB as we established ties to organized crime, accumulated wealth, and gained a well-deserved reputation for our fiercely efficient professionalism. By the time they had discovered us, the Soviet Union was already dead. Besides your obsession with obtaining Rambaldi artifacts – which you still have not explained to my satisfaction, do you know how sick I am of hearing you say "Truth Takes time?" – we dealt in the usual: weapons, extortion, blackmail ... except now what we were doing was not officially sanctioned, and hence was morally unjust. I have to laugh, looking back on how patriotic we used to be. They had brainwashed us, propagandized us, but when it wore off, all I could think was, how could I have been so stupid? I know you felt the same. You had bled out your soul for mother Russia, drop by excruciating drop, and you had been repaid with torture, imprisonment, and the label of 'traitor.' You could not go back to the life you had forged in America, and you could not pretend to have any remaining loyalty to your country. Like you, I have no delusions of goodness – I know what I am: a selfish, amoral creature. But that doesn't mean I am incapable of love, or sacrifice. I always take care of my own. And I know that, at least in this, you and I are the same. That is why you killed him. Alexander. Khashinau, I mean. I know why you had to. He never made any pretenses about being loyal to us above and beyond all other, selfish concerns. When we began our work, you gravitated toward the position of leader naturally, and he didn't seem to mind much. In fact, he told me that he had obtained more than his fill of experience as "upper-level management" back home, and had no desire to reprise the role in an unofficial capacity. Still, I think a part of him was resentful, having to take direction from a woman, however politely or charmingly you sometimes chose to phrase your orders. The fact that he liked you, and continued to be intimate with me, did not deter him from dreaming up plans for his own organization, one that could potentially challenge yours someday, if he could keep possession of "The Bible," and convince our contacts that he was the one they should come to, not you. Even knowing all this as I do, a small part of me still wishes you had not done it. In our world, he is – he was – what I would call a good man. He was not unnecessarily cruel, he did not delight in makings others suffer; he was not unfeeling. He showed what little compassion he could towards my niece, your daughter, not knowing what you would chose to do when Cuvee told you to "put a bullet" in your child. I remember when you told me about killing him. First, you told me about your "plan" to turn yourself in. After attempting to verify your sanity several times at the top of my lungs, and through a few half-hearted kicks to your head, I resigned myself to the fact that you were determined to go through with this. I winced mentally as you broached the next subject. "Katya. About Khashinau –" "Rina, I am no fool. You did what you had to do. I understand." "You didn't ... love him ... did you?" "What?" I had been contemplating my fingernails. My head snapped up. "Oh ... I," I tried a laugh, decided it wasn't working for me, and gave up. "No, no. No. I just had a bit of a soft spot for him is all. I mean, after all these, I certainly grew ... attached. But love? No." You looked at me thoughtfully "I am still sorry I had to do it." You smiled slightly. "He never did, um, sleep with me, you know." "Oh well, thanks for that." I said dryly. "Hey, it wasn't for lack of trying. Err, I mean flirting," you amended hastily, as I gave you a dagger-eyed look. "He was genuinely loyal to you, Katya, in that way." I shook my head, trying to clear it. We are what we are. Nothing more, nothing less. "Be careful, Irina. I will be watching. If your plan should fail, you know where to find me, should you need an extraction." We had discussed the details of this earlier. You wrapped me in one of your rare, bone-crushing hugs. With any luck, I thought, you will soon be able to give one of these to Sydney. As for your husband, well, that is an entirely different matter. I don't think I could wish you enough luck in regards to that. "Are you sure you aren't upset with me about Khashinau?" "If I were, don't you think you would know it?" I smirked as I returned your hug. "Get out of here already. I'll keep things in order for you," I said, referring to our organization. At that time, what I controlled was almost an organization in itself, but it was still tied to all your operations. I realized I would need to strengthen the old bonds if I wanted to keep things running smoothly while you were gone. No worries there. I was always up for a challenge. And really, I am fine about Alexander. I mean Khashinau. Affection is affection. It is not love. I am not like you, Irina. I have never been in love with a man. And don't you even try to deny it. I am your sister, Rina. How could I not know the truth? 


	9. Truth

I Know You Love Him  
  
Chapter 9: Truth  
  
There were shards of broken porcelain on a London coffee shop's floor. I remember this. Your hands were still shaking slightly as I gripped them in mine. Dark shapes moved in my peripheral vision, and my gaze darted to each corner of the room I saw the men appear, as if from nowhere, one by one, to silently overtake us. I pulled you from your seat and we ran. I hot- wired a car and drove 100 mph to the airport, just in time to catch a flight to Moscow. You understood what was happening, that we were in danger and had to move again, but you didn't seem to care. I could see it in your eyes when it wasn't on your lips, the phrase repeating over and over again: He's alive he's alive he's alive.  
Had Jack Bristow seen your reaction to his ad in "The London Times" that day, I do not think he would be so wary of trusting your love for him, even with all the lies and deception that have passed between the two of you. But really, Irina, after a while, your elation got annoying. It was positively juvenile, the way you recounted your Internet chat with your husband. "Miss you." "Miss you too." Yes, yes, very sweet ... now excuse me while I vomit! But you did intrigue me. I still didn't know what it was about this man that could cause you, you of all women in the world, the indestructible Irina Derevko, to fall in love. That's part of the reason why I did what I did when I finally got the opportunity to meet him.  
"I'm sure Sydney is alive."  
"I wish I could be sure." Your voice already seemed hollowed out, as if making room for the grief you anticipated upon learning of her death.  
"When did you become so fatalistic? If she's your daughter, she's alive. That's simply all there is to it!" I softened my voice as I continued. "I'll get her out. Hell, I'll even bring back her angst-ridden ex-boyfriend, free of charge." After reading your file on the young Mr. Vaughn, I was rather inclined to believe that my niece had not inherited your discerning taste in men. You nodded, your jaw clenching slightly; I knew you were displeased with him as well, if only for your daughter's sake.  
"And I'll give Jack your love."  
You gave me a steely-eyed look. I struggled to contain my amusement as I watched you attempt to mask your feelings.  
"Fine, whatever you want. Kiss him for me or something." Concentrating too hard on trying to sound off-hand, you didn't realize what you actually said until it was too late.  
"Katya –"  
"Really?" I purred, thoroughly pleased with this turn in the  
conversation. "Well, it would certainly be my pleasure."  
You made a sound deep in your throat. "Katya, I am warning you –"  
"Did you just growl at me, Rina? I must say that's not very  
attractive. It's entirely unfeminine. Does Jack mind when you do  
that?" Fast as lightning, I was already across the room with my hand  
on the door when you aimed at me and threw the knife. I ducked nimbly,  
and it sunk into the wood, as I exited laughing, calling back one last  
taunt:  
"Don't worry, dear sister, I'll do exactly as you ask!"  
* * * * * * "Isn't that what family is for?" When the moment came, I hadn't planned to do it. And, really, Irina, given the fact that I'd had the opportunity to see him shirtless, you would have marveled at my initial restraint. I gave him a very light, chaste kiss, barely touching my lips to his own. "That was from Irina." What happened next was really all your fault.  
As I looked up at him, I involuntarily recalled something you had said to me very long ago.  
"You know, Katya, I think I understand why Cuvee didn't tap you for this assignment. Despite your – sufficient – looks, you just don't know how to hold a man's attention."  
So when I gave your husband a genuine, passionate kiss, initially, the thought that was foremost in my mind was a simple Oh yeah? Well I'll show you!  
Then things got a little tricky.  
The kiss was pleasant enough; yes, I was beginning to see why you had grown so attached to him. Then his arms slipped around me, pressing lightly but insistently against the small of my back, as if he would draw me closer, and at a the same time, the kiss somehow deepened through no manipulation of my own. Uh-oh.  
Wait a minute you, this is not how it's supposed to work, didn't Irina train you, you're supposed to be too shocked to react! You're enjoying this way too much, don't you have any loyalty, what about my sister?! Hmmm ... what about my sister anyway? Always so greedy ... never sharing any of her toys ...  
Suddenly, more of your words entered my mind, again, completely unbidden:  
"My husband. My daughter. My mission. Jack. Sydney ..."  
It was this, more than any threat of violence you can come up with, that made me pull away.  
Well, at least I had the satisfaction of seeing that shocked look on his face. I only hoped I wasn't wearing the same look myself "And who was that from?" he managed to ask, when he had recovered his voice. Many emotions played across his face, most of which I managed to identify. There was one, though, that I couldn't put a name to. Until now.  
The poor dear man looked so confused. Good. I was in control again. I smirked as I patted his face lightly, thinking, now this is more like it! "Too many questions."  
And I strolled off, leaving him to gape after me. No. Scratch that. It wasn't a stroll. It was a strut. Strut, I told myself, as I felt his bewildered eyes still on me. It was as if he was trying to burn a whole in the back of my head, in hopes that my motivations would tumble out. You are Ekaterina Derevko, the Black Sparrow, femme fatale extraordinaire. So maybe Irina's got a better haircut or something. So what? You're still just as good as her. You've still got it, woman. Strut.  
Sometimes, you have to think these things. They cause you to laugh at yourself. And I have always been a firm believer in not taking myself too seriously.  
And so, a few days later, just look at the thanks I get for saving the life of your only child! You, sitting on my chest, eyes blazing nostrils flaring, just daring me to breathe. Ingrate!  
"DON'T. YOU. EVER. TOUCH. MY. HUSBAND. AGAIN!!" You screamed like a banshee as you tossed me across the room. I got in a few good hits, but I knew you could overpower me with the advantage of your insane rage. And it certainly didn't help to quell your anger when I burst out laughing in the middle of our fight. You had been able to maintain your composure for exactly 1.5 seconds after I told you about the kiss, and then you had exploded.  
"He's MINE, do you understand that? No one is taking him from me, he's MINE! I won't lose him ever again!" Your voice cracked, and suddenly the situation was decidedly unfunny. Your hands were still balled up into to fists, but they shook, along with the rest of you. I still can't believe you were crying. Even it was just a few tears. To see you get that upset over a friendly little bout of sibling rivalry ... well, if I had ever had any doubts in regards to your feelings for Jack Bristow, they vanished in that instant.  
"Irina," I whispered, looking up at your anguished features. "Even if it was possible ... I would never take him away from you. I may resent you at times, but I could never, ever hurt you so. I know you love him."  
You opened your mouth to retort, and I raised a brow as I gave you my most piercing gaze, daring you to contradict what I had said. Your mouth snapped shut as you closed your eyes and shook your head helplessly. "I can't lose him, Katya. I just can't."  
"Oh, you won't. Let me up, and I'll tell you why."  
You grunted discontentedly, but eventually, you acquiesced. Oh goody, now I can breathe again! "I learned something from that kiss, Irina. I mean, besides the obvious, like the fact that you're husband is a great kisser and that he really needs to get lai – ow, don't pinch! You are so dead if that leaves a mark!" Hastily I continued. "I think he actually felt ... guilty." Your eyes widened. "For responding, even as minimally as he did. In fact, I think the only reason he responded at all was because it reminded him of you. You've got the poor man trapped, Irina. Even if he can't admit it to himself, he loves you too." You stared at me. "You're just ... trying to placate me so I won't beat up on you anymore, aren't you?" I shrugged and gave you a Cheshire-cat smile. "Whatever you want to tell yourself, Rina. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to get some first aid before I catch my flight back to Tai Pei." I stood up, helped you off the floor, and clasped you in a quick embrace before I walked out the door again. "Take care. I'll be in touch." And so I left you to contemplate my words, and to lick your wounds, physical and otherwise. The truth doesn't always take so very long, Irina. And it isn't always fair. You married a man under completely false pretenses and betrayed him in the worst ways possible. You left your daughter for him to raise alone. Despite this, there is still so much love between the three of you. More than anything else you have, it is this that I envy. And more than anything else you posses, it is this that I pledge to protect, because you are my sister. Through the years, you've kept me as safe as I've kept you. You have saved my life more times than I can count. I may not know what it is to be in love with a man. I may not know what it is to receive love from my own child. But I know this: of the few people in this world that I do love, you are the only one who actually loves me back. 


	10. Odds and Ends

I Know You Love Him  
  
Chapter 10: Epilogue - Odds and Ends  
  
"You bastard, how did you get this number?"  
"Hello, yes, it's nice to hear your voice again too. Katya, don't get me wrong, you're a perfectly lovely woman, but you really could stand to learn a thing or two about phone etiquette."  
"Why the hell are you calling me!?"  
"Well, it was so nice to hear from you the other day, I just thought I'd see how you are doing." I could feel him smirking on the other end of the line. There are very few people in this world that can really get under my skin; Arvin Sloane is one of them.  
"I hope I haven't irritated you, my dear," he said, as if he were reading my thoughts. Damn it! "I'd hate to get another death threat ... but on the other hand, if that's your only excuse to contact me –"  
"You really don't get it, do you Arvin?" I clenched my fists, just imaging him, standing there with that know-it-all smile on his face. "I have more than one way of getting to you. Make no mistake about that. You leave my sister alone, or you pay the price with your life."  
"Ah, such devotion. I wonder if Irina knows how fortunate she is to have such a loving sister ... even if your protective instincts do sometimes lead you to rather paranoid extremes of behavior."  
"You know, I am really beginning to regret letting you live!"  
His laughter made me want to spit nails. "Katya, I must admit, ever since Irina introduced us, you have always intrigued me. I can't doubt your fierce loyalty to her, but I wonder ... surely your feelings, your motivations, extend beyond a single sisterly bond? I have never been able to determine exactly what it is that drives you, where you obtained that source of your indescribable spark."  
I felt my mouth grow dry. "What? What did you say?" I whispered.  
"That indescribable spark of you ... I want to know what it is that you want. Power? Or perhaps it is something less tangible, like love. Tell me Katya, do you ever regret not getting Irina's assignment? I mean, Jack could've been your husband. Sydney could've been your daughter."  
I swallowed hard, gripping my phone so tightly I that I thought it might break in my hand. Arvin had always taken far too much pleasure in the vivisection of my soul. That was how I knew I had one. I had never given it much consideration, one way or the other, but if something weren't there, his words wouldn't affect me at all.  
"Yes," I said, my voice low and deadly. "And you would be the bane of my existence. But then, that's the case now, isn't it? One out of three isn't bad."  
He laughed again. "Katya, are you always so hostile, or do you only act this way towards men you're attracted to?"  
I think I'm going to be sick. "Did you hear that?"  
"Excuse me?"  
"That was the sound of my skin crawling. Don't flatter yourself! You. Repulse. Me. Understand?"  
"Ah. Pity. But tell me this: if you hate me so much, why am I still alive?"  
"Good question. And you might just live to continue pondering it, if you back off Irina."  
"Hmm. Well, perhaps I would consider leaving one Derevko sister alone ... if I could get closer to the other."  
"Arvin, I'd lay down my life for Irina, but even I have to draw the line somewhere. Don't call me again."  
I hung up the phone and shook my head, trying to clear it of all his words. I had more important things to do than succumb to the manipulations of Arvin Sloane. An informant had just given me a very alarming lead on a Covenant agent. But then, he was a Covenant agent himself. As a matter of fact, he was bankrolling the entire organization, whether he wanted to or not. And now he was trying to play both sides against the middle – and doing a damn good job of it, too. That son of mine. It almost made me wish he knew to whom he was truly leaking all these juicy tidbits of intel. Just so I could tell him I was proud. But then, why would he even care what I thought? Focus, Katya, I told myself. This is not a time for sentiment. This is a time to act. Soon enough, the information Julian had given me would be confirmed. My conversation with Sloane had left me full of rage, and I was almost pleased that this situation had presented itself; at least I had something over which I could vent my wrath.  
"That little blonde bitch!"  
My hands were shaking as I held the photo. I was all-but-certain about the true affiliations of Lauren Reed. If she thinks she can mess with the daughter of a Derevko, and actually live to tell the tale ...  
No. No time to fume now. I have to think. What is the best course of action to take now that I have this information? I turned on my cell phone again. Ah yes, now I know. "Mr. Bristow, I have some information that might interest you."  
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. "This really isn't a good time." When he spoke, he sounded awkward. Was someone there with him? Sydney, perhaps? Hmm. I wonder what he told her about me. That is, if he said anything at all.  
"I know the identity of the mole in the CIA."  
His tone changed abruptly. "Where should I meet you?"  
I grinned. Remembering where you were hiding before we flew to Lisbon at the end of the week, I had just gotten the most wonderful idea. Ooh, this is going to be too much fun!  
"I'm staying at The Summit hotel. Room 847." I paused for effect, letting the silence stretch out. "Is something wrong?"  
"No ...I uh ... just didn't think that you were still in the country."  
"I am always where I need to be, Mr. Bristow. I'll meet you in the lobby in half an hour." I hung up and strolled back into the hotel. It was so hard to keep a straight face while I told we were going to meet one of my contacts, and then check out a little earlier than you had planned. Uh- oh, now I'm in real trouble.  
Hee hee.  
"If I had realized we were meeting another one of your contacts, I would've –"  
"There is no need to worry. At least, not for you. If she tries to hurt anyone, it's going to be me."  
He looked at me for a moment, puzzled, and then his eyes widened as he began, too late, to guess what happening. I opened the door to hear you grumbling: "Katya, it's a good thing we got a adjoining suites, your room is an absolute mess, I do not understand how you can live like such a –"  
At the sight of your husband, you froze in your tracks. Looking between the two of you, with your mouths and eyes opened so wide, I said the only thing I could think of, just to keep myself from bursting out in laughter.  
"Just call me the cupid from Hell."  
"This is by far the stupidest thing you have ever done, Katya, and that is saying something!" You began to curse me out in Russian, and I got miffed.  
"Humph. So this is the thanks I get for trying to make my big sister happy." I turned to Jack, who seemed to have just remembered how to blink. "She's been impossible to live with lately, just so grumpy. Surely, you can think of a way to cheer her up?"  
Your face turned red. "Katya!"  
"Keep your voice down, Rina, or the whole hotel will know my name."  
"What about the Covenant mole in the CIA?" Jack seemed to have found his voice, though he still did not take his eyes off you.  
Suddenly, your anger turned to concern. Whew. "There's a mole inside the CIA?" Then your concern switched to anger again as you looked at me. Damn. "When were you going to tell me this?!"  
"Well ... now." I decided that I was starting to get annoyed with you. "And since you're being such a brat, I'm not going to give you any more information until tomorrow. I need to get the final confirmation, anyway. Just to be absolutely certain."  
You and Jack stopped looking at each other for a moment to stare at me. "And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?" He snapped, seeming quite irritated himself. Honestly, what a pair of ingrates you two are!  
"Surely you can think of things to ... discuss ... that are of mutual interest to you both." I smiled, seeing your expression of utter embarrassment out of the corner of my eye. "As Irina said, I have in the adjoining room, so just, you know, just don't be to loud or anything – I meant with the talking!" I yelped, as you launched your self across the room and started hitting me. "Talking, Irina! Really, get your mind out of the gutter!"  
I twisted your arms behind your back and pushed you away from me. "Come on now, that's just not fair, I haven't even recovered from our last fight yet. I'm two years younger, you know, and she still beats up on me." I batted my lashes at Jack, who seemed to be having a great deal of difficulty taking all this in.  
"Out, Katya." You growled.  
"Oh Rina, not the growling again, it's so unbecoming. Jack, I've been meaning to ask you, do you mind it when she –"  
You made a move towards me. "Out!"  
"Okay, okay, okay!" So I turned tail and fled. Just not as far as you thought.  
Something in me had to see if you and Jack would actually remember how to speak after I left the room. Really, I had hoped you would at least be glad to see each other. It wasn't my intention to play a cruel practical joke on you. All right, so it was, but it wasn't my only intention. Okay?  
"I really must apologize," you said in a soft voice. "For Katya." I scowled. "She's a little ..."  
"Yes. I noticed."  
Peeking through the crack in the door, I saw you attempt to smile as you spoke again. "You know, for a long time Jack, I didn't think ... that I'd see you alive again ... ever ..."  
And that was when he finally kissed you, wrapping his arms around you with a passion and tenderness I had never seen, never elicited from anyone. And as you rested your head on his shoulder, whispering, "I missed you so much," I saw in his expression (though he wouldn't dare to say it out loud) how very much he had missed you.  
"So," you said unsteadily, after what seemed like a decade had passed and you finally released each other, "How is Sydney?"  
He sat down with you on the bed, content for now just to hold your hands in his. "She's as well as can be expected ..."  
I sighed. All right Katya, I told myself, enough of this voyeurism. It was time for a hot shower and a good night's sleep.  
A little while later, after I had put on my decidedly un-sexy but comfortable cotton sleepwear, I toweled my short locks dry as I finished getting ready for bed. The bed. It seemed too large for just me. Surely, they must have a male escort service in this city. No, no, I'm not that desperate. After all my sisterly, loving efforts to improve your mood, I sincerely hoped you and your husband were doing more than just talking.  
When I awoke, I didn't open my eyes. Not at first. But I still knew that there was a gun pointed at my head.  
"Don't move." Apparently, my assailant wasn't fooled by my continued pretense of sleep. The voice sounded strangely familiar, but I couldn't place it. I did as I was told, thinking sullenly that perhaps you had been right about this being the stupidest thing that I had ever done.  
Whoever it was turned on the lamp by the bed, and I blinked rapidly as light flooded the room, trying to adjust my vision as fast as possible so that I could get a clear view of the intruder. A woman with a heart- shaped face and dark blonde hair stood over my bed, dressed in black and facing me with a look of stone. Like her voice, her appearance had that same strange familiarity.  
"The SVR has been looking for you."  
The SVR? I actually had to repress a snort of laughter. The SVR is a bunch of pseudo-spy sissies who wish they could still call themselves the KGB. Carefully maintaining a straight face as I looked at her, I asked, "And what does the SVR want with me?"  
"We need information on the Covenant. You are going to giving to us."  
Like hell I am, you stupid little girl. "Or what?"  
"Or I'll take you and lay you out on the front lawn, like you did to me. Only, instead of a sleeping pill, I'll give you some cyanide."  
I felt my bones grow cold. Oh my God. My heart exploded in my throat and my vision started to blur with the shock of her statement. As if from somewhere very distant, I heard myself whisper, "I thought you were dead."  
She sneered. "Sorry to disappoint you. Katta." She had been so young. She hadn't even been able to say "Katya," let alone "Ekaterina." The affection attached to my childhood nickname contrasted chillingly with the pure raw hatred I heard in her voice. I looked into her eyes, hoping to see a glimpse of someone I knew, but all I could see was myself, very small.  
"Yelena," I gasped, as I stared into the face of my little sister. "I never wanted –" Then I felt something heavy hit the back of my head, and just before I passed out, I heard myself scream for you, almost as I had done when we were children. I still don't know which words I actually got out, and which stayed spinning inside my head. Irina! Rina, I had a nightmare, please wake up and tell me it's not real!  
  
THE END (?)  
  
There will be a sequel, but only if I get enough feedback and reviews for  
this story, so here's hoping! 


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